


When the sky has fallen

by Nary



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Incest, Loss, Masturbation, Multi, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Threesome - F/F/M, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning alone to the great rotting ruin of a house felt strangely like a homecoming, even though she had only lived there for a short while.  She ignored the stares in the village - no doubt no one there had expected to see the widowed Lady Sharpe again.  But the house felt like <i>hers</i> in a way it had never been when she was married to Thomas.  It felt like she was wanted there, if not precisely welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the sky has fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Risse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Risse/gifts).



> Many thanks to alby and to measured_words for beta reading!

Even after everything that had happened, Edith returned to Allerdale Hall eventually.

"It isn't healthy," Alan told her, and he didn't mean the drafts from the collapsing roof or the isolation for a woman expecting her first child.

"But it's quiet," Edith told him. "I haven't written anything in months. I need quiet to write." It wasn't true. She had written her first book quite successfully with the hustle and bustle of life around her. But this book, this tale of Crimson Peak, seemed to demand a different atmosphere. It wouldn't leave her be, clawing at the edges of her mind even when she tried to push it aside. "It will only be for a little while," she said, and kissed him on the cheek to stop the conversation.

Returning alone to the great rotting ruin of a house felt strangely like a homecoming, even though she had only lived there for a short while. She ignored the stares in the village - no doubt no one there had expected to see the widowed Lady Sharpe again. But the house felt like _hers_ in a way it had never been when she was married to Thomas. It felt like she was wanted there, if not precisely welcomed.

Edith set her typewriter up in the bedroom she had once occupied, facing towards the window. It was late summer now, a season she had never seen at Allerdale. But the heather was in bloom, covering the moor again with a vibrant carpet of scarlet and purple, and that was familiar enough. She wrote ten pages on the first day, the words flowing out of her as easily as heart's blood from an open wound.

She went to bed half dreading, half hoping for a ghostly visit, from whom she couldn't say. Apart from the usual creaks and groans of the house itself, though, her sleep was undisturbed. She woke up with a vague sense of disappointment. "Did you not miss me at all?" she said aloud, her voice echoing in the empty room. If anyone heard her, they made no answer.

Still, the house didn't feel empty to Edith. It was as though the others who dwelt there had just slipped around a corner whenever she entered a room. She knew that she wasn't alone, but the spirits didn't show themselves to her. She heard the piano playing that night after she blew out the candle, though. In a way, it was almost comforting.

On the third day, she ventured to the nursery at the top of the house. The sun angled through the dilapidated roof, its weak rays giving a warmth to the room that Edith found comforting, but also serving to highlight every cobweb and patch of mold. She laid a hand on her belly and tried to imagine her child - Thomas' child - playing there, envisioning the room cleaned, with fresh linens for the cradle, a new coat of paint for the toys. Would it feel less desolate, she wondered, with a living, breathing baby there? Or would she and the child gradually be consumed by the loneliness and madness that Allerdale seemed to bring to everyone it touched? Edith wondered if coming here had been a mistake. If everything that had meant something to her was gone, or wouldn't speak to her, was there anything worth staying for? The baby kicked at her ribs, bringing her back from her reverie.

She returned to her room and wrote until her hands were sore from hours of typing. After the baby arrived, she knew that her time for writing would be much diminished, if not curtailed entirely. Every moment counted now. It was as if she hoped she could conjure the spirits of the house by telling their story. In this place, she felt a compulsion to write that had been missing for too long, and she followed it where it led. Words spilled onto the page as though she was taking dictation from an unheard voice rather than composing them herself.

That night, she fell into bed exhausted, but sleep eluded her. The piano did not play to soothe her, and she tossed restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. It was hot, without a breath of wind to cool the room, and the sheets seemed to cling to her body. She pushed them aside, drawing up her nightgown so that her legs and rounded belly were exposed. With her eyes closed, she spread her legs, bringing her hand to where they joined. Her body was damp with more than sweat, and she sighed as she stroked herself slowly, finding a hollow pleasure in the act.

A chill passed over her, and at first she only felt a sense of gratitude that the breeze had picked up at last. But as her skin prickled with gooseflesh, she realized it was more than an ordinary coolness. Edith opened her eyes and saw them, Thomas to one side of the bed and Lucille to the other. They were watching her, their pale faces impassive. Thomas stretched one hand out as though he wanted to touch her, but hesitated - perhaps because of Lucille's presence, or for reasons not given to her to understand.

"Please," Edith whispered. "Don't deny me this..." She reached up to grasp his hand, half-expecting it to disappear before she could make contact. But Thomas felt solid - cold and lifeless, but unmistakably present. His expression was unreadable as he looked from Edith to Lucille. Then like one they both fell upon her, their clothing dissolving into mist that flowed around them like ink spilled into water. Edith shuddered at the touch of dead hands on her skin, dead lips that brushed against hers, but she understood that this was what she had come here seeking. "I came back for you," she gasped as her husband's fingers slid inside her, as his sister tore open her nightgown, ripping the lace with an unnatural strength, and seized Edith’s nipple between her teeth hard enough to send a wave of pain searing through her.

Edith tangled her fingers in Lucille's hair and tugged hard, as though the sting might bring her up short. Instead the gesture only made Lucille turn to give her a ghastly smile. "You could never come between us," Lucille hissed, her nails raking across Edith's pale flesh. "Nothing could. We'll be together forever now." Apparently magnanimous in her victory, she slid her spectral fingers lower to rub Edith in a way that made her writhe.

Thomas kissed her, and for a moment she could almost pretend he was still alive, still hers. She had dreamt of this so often, except there was no warm breath against her skin when he drew back, no pulse pounding where she reached up to touch his throat. The wound on his cheek gaped gruesomely, but no blood dripped from it onto her face. When he drove his manhood inside her, it felt exquisite and excruciating all at once. She cried out, clinging to his shoulders just as she had the first and only time they had made love. This time he didn't wait, didn't hold himself back. He thrust into her again and again, his eyes seeming to stare through her. "Thomas," she moaned, trying to reach him, wherever his heart was now. 

Over his shoulder, Lucille stroked her brother's back, her grin triumphant. "That's right," she said, "harder!" Thomas' expression grew pained, and he did as she ordered. The flood of his seed spread through Edith like ice. Her back arched as she shuddered beneath them both, unable to resist the driving, mounting pressure even if she had wanted to. 

She had tears in her eyes when the wave of unspeakable pleasure receded at last. Thomas looked down at her as though he was truly seeing her at last, and his face was wretched. "I'm sorry," he whispered, so softly she almost didn't hear it, and he stroked her cheek with something approaching love. Edith reached out to him in return, her thumb running over the ragged tear in his skin, and he closed his eyes, turning to kiss her palm. Lucille still hovered nearby, watching with greedy, hollow eyes, but for a few moments, it was only the two of them, locked in their lost love.

"Remember," Thomas murmured against her ear, "you wanted this. You'll be free now." Edith nodded, weeping, and dug her fingers into the chill, unforgiving flesh of his arms, as though she could hold him with her a few moments longer, until he dissipated like early morning fog, leaving her in a swoon.

* * *

Edith shot up in bed with the sun shining through the windows into the empty room. She knew this place, and herself, too well to imagine it had only been a dream, even if the welts on her body and the torn lace of her nightgown hadn't been there there to tell their tale. Her thighs felt wet and clammy, and as she staggered to her feet she realized with a sickening lurch that it wasn't only the residue of the night's visitation. Watery blood dripped down her legs and pooled at her feet, and she sank to the floor, lightheaded. 

She wasn't sure how she found the strength to limp down the stairs, pulling herself along inch by inch, clutching the banister. She lay panting at the foot of the stairs, trying to muster the energy to go on. Lifting herself at last, she saw them watching her from the landing above - Thomas, Lucille, and the children. The thin, high wail of an infant, and the soothing murmur of its father, were the last sounds Edith heard as she stumbled from Allerdale. 

Crimson Peak had taken everything from her - everything except her words. And in return, it had given her the freedom she needed to write them.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
